by Jackie Braun
“What about place settings, cutlery, stemware and serving pieces? I only ask because not every bachelor has those,” she told him.
“I have service for twenty-four.”
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously? You have service for twenty-four?”
“Not at the penthouse, but they’re packed away in my uncle’s attic,” he said on a shrug. “They were my mother’s.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Chase frowned in confusion. “Why are you sorry?”
It was Ella’s turn to be perplexed. “I...I assumed the fact that you have them now meant she’s, well, dead.”
Ella had nothing of her late mother’s. When Camilla had bailed on Oscar, she’d taken off with her all of the jewelry, trinkets and china that, by rights, should have been Ella’s.
Chase was saying, “My mother is very much alive and well. I just haven’t seen her in a couple of decades.”
Ella blinked. “Sorry,” she offered again before she could think better of it. Then she blundered further by saying, “At least you have your dad.”
“Actually, my father is dead.”
“Oh.” It was all she could manage with both of her feet stuffed in her mouth.
Chase took pity on her and changed the subject. “How much wine do you think I should order?”
Grateful for the change in topics, she replied, “I think three bottles should do it for a group that size, unless you are thinking of offering your guests more than one selection to go with the meal.”
By the time the waiter had cleared their plates and brought her dessert, Ella had a very good idea of the gathering she would be putting together on Chase’s behalf. But that wasn’t why she was smiling. The cheesecake looked as good as she remembered with a drizzle of sauce as well as a few fresh strawberries layered on top.
“I’m willing to share,” she told Chase.
Unlike her, he had ordered only coffee, which he took black. Ella loved coffee, as long as it came with plenty of cream and a few packets of sweetener.
“That’s all right.”
“Watching your figure?”
He chuckled. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
“I’m all for role reversal.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Well? Do you?”
“Watch my figure?”
“Want a bite.”
“Maybe one.” He winked. “I can work it off later.”
He was talking about exercise. Probably lifting weights or taking a turn on an elliptical machine, but she felt her flesh heat up anyway. She could think of a good way for them both to burn off calories.
Then Ella heard a familiar voice and those first licks of interest were doused as effectively as having a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
“There are, too, open tables back here, Charles. I don’t know what you were thinking, seating us so close to the kitchen,” Camilla complained. Then she spied Ella. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Eating a slice of cheesecake.” Or she had been. Her appetite was good and ruined now.
Ella’s former stepmother was blonder, bustier and more bodacious than she remembered. Of course, Ella had been doing her damnedest to forget the woman.
“Charles, why didn’t you mention that Ella was here?”
“An oversight,” the maître d’ replied, casting an apologetic glance Ella’s way.
Camilla continued, “Our relationship may have changed, but there are no hard feelings. Isn’t that so, Ella?”
Ella smiled without agreeing. Now was neither the time nor place to air dirty laundry. “You’re looking well,” she said, determined to be pleasant.
“Thank you. Have you gained a little weight?” Camilla cast a meaningful glance at the cheesecake.
It was the kind of verbal slap Ella expected from the woman who had made her insecure teen years pure hell, and so she was prepared for it.
“Nope. Same weight as before.”
“Really? Well, not me. I’ve lost several pounds. I’ve been so busy redecorating Javier’s villa in Madrid,” she said of her new husband.
Javier Saville, plastic surgeon to the rich and famous. Camilla had met him when she’d gone in for a tummy tuck. She appeared to have had a few additional procedures done since then.
“Married life agrees with you,” Ella said. And the fact that, these days, Camilla was married to someone other than Ella’s father agreed with Ella.
Camilla nodded, before transferring her gaze to Chase. “You’ll have to forgive us for being so rude. Ella and I haven’t seen one another in...how long has it been?”
“Your divorce from Dad was final two years, six months, three weeks and four, um, no, five days ago.” Ella smiled sweetly.
Meanwhile, Camilla’s eyes glittered with pure evil. “How is your father, dear? Any more indictments? I wasn’t able to follow the news while I was abroad.”
“You know damned well he was cleared of all charges,” she said between gritted teeth.
“Your table, madam?” Charles inserted in an attempt to keep the situation from escalating. The poor maître d’ looked pained. Scenes didn’t happen at The Colton.
Camilla ignored him. “That’s right. It was all those pesky civil suits from investors who’d lost their life savings that kept him in court.”
The burden of proof was lower in civil cases and a couple of sympathetic juries had sided with the plaintiffs. Between legal fees, those settlements and the financial drubbing Oscar had taken in the divorce, he’d wound up nearly broke.
“I’m Chase Trumbull.” Chase stood and held out his hand, making it impossible for Camilla to ignore him or continue her not-so-veiled attack on Ella.
“Camilla Saville.” Instead of shaking his hand, she gave just the tips of his fingers a light squeeze before adding with an air of importance, “Of the Greenwich, Connecticut, Savilles. Are you and Ella...dating?”
The question was accompanied by a practiced look of surprise.
“Actually, Chase and I are business associates,” Ella responded.
“Business associates?” Camilla’s lips twisted on the words, before she asked skeptically, “And what business might that be?”
“Ella is a professional party planner.”
“Since when?” Camilla snorted indelicately. Chase’s icy stare had her offering an apology, albeit an insincere one. “I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. It’s just that I’m surprised. The last I heard, and admittedly it was several months ago, Ella was trying her hand at fashion merchandising and not having very much success, I’m afraid.”
As if Camilla hadn’t gleefully given every contact she knew in the industry an earful.
Chase surprised her by claiming, “Ella is very much in demand. I was lucky to get her, especially on short notice.”
Camilla looked as if she wanted to disagree, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without making herself appear churlish.
“Trumbull, you said?”
“Of the East Hampton Trumbulls, yes.” Even though Chase said it with a straight face, Ella caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Camilla’s expression changed to fawning. “East Hampton. Ooh. I adore East Hampton. I’ve been telling Javier that we should buy a place there. Our penthouse is lovely, but the city can be so tiresome after a while. It would be nice to have a weekend getaway that didn’t require a transatlantic flight, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“You have a place abroad?”
“A chateau in Paris and a Tuscan villa.”
Ella didn’t know if Chase really owned real estate in Europe, but it didn’t matter. Camilla’s envy was plain.
“Lovely places.”
He nodded. “It was nice to me
et you. Now if you’ll excuse us, Ella and I have a lot to discuss.”
“Of course. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thanks. You, too,” Ella said, hoping to put an end to their uncomfortable reunion. If only she had left it there. But no, she had to say, “And tell Bernadette I said hello.”
“I will.” Camilla lowered her voice. “And may I just say you’re taking it well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her engagement.”
“Bernadette is engaged? That’s wonderful.” Even if Ella pitied the poor sap who found himself saddled with her high-maintenance, ill-tempered stepsister.
But Camilla was frowning. “Oh, dear. You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Ella asked, fully aware she was going to regret it given the gleam in her former stepmother’s eyes.
“Bernadette is marrying Bradley.”
FIVE
Chase already had plenty of questions for Ella. Questions that, at her request, he’d put off asking until after they had finished their meal.
Well, now he had one more.
Who in the hell was Bradley?
Make that two questions. The second being, why should it matter to him?
Chase only knew it did. The guy had to be someone pretty important for Ella’s stepmother to fling him in Ella’s face the way she had.
Generally speaking, patience wasn’t Chase’s strong suit, but he exercised what he considered to be an admirable amount while she picked at her cheesecake. With more than half of the slice remaining, she announced she was ready to go. Chase paid for their meal and they left.
He tipped the valet and was buckling his seat belt when Ella said without any prompting, “So, what do you want to know?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“No. But I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”
He didn’t ask what “this” she was referring to. Instead, he said, “I’m trying to figure out which question I want you to answer first.”
“Let me know when you decide.” She turned to look out her window.
“Who are you really?” he blurted out.
She turned to face him, brows beetled. “I’m Ella Sanborn, the newbie party planner you’ve taken pity on by hiring me to put together a dinner for you the Saturday after next.”
“But you’re not merely the struggling young woman with the grandiose business dream I first met.”
The one who believed in luck and who stopped to pick up stray pennies to enhance her odds. The one who lived in a seedy neighborhood in an apartment that could have been measured in square inches rather than square feet. The one who desperately needed a job.
“Why can’t I be that person?” she asked. “Does the fact that I was born wealthy negate my current ambitions?”
Born wealthy. Now they were getting somewhere, even though it was no more than he’d suspected given her taste for fine wines, designer clothes and the fact that she was on a first-name basis with the maître d’ at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan.
Ella was saying, “The person you met the other day, the person you had dinner with tonight, this is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. I haven’t changed.”
“But your circumstances have, I gather. You’ve eaten at The Colton before.”
“Lots of people have eaten there.” She shrugged. “It’s open to the public.”
Which was true, but the prices on the establishment’s menu ensured an affluent clientele, and they both knew it.
“Charles knows you personally, Ella. He asked about your father. And we ran into your stepmother there.”
“Former.” Ella’s voice was surprisingly sharp. “That woman is of no relation to me, not even by marriage now. Thank God!” But then the fight went out of her. “My father is Oscar Sanborn. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
Her chin was tilted up in challenge, as if daring Chase to say something negative. Oscar Sanborn. A memory stirred before clicking into place.
“The Wizard of Wall Street. I did a term paper on him while I was at Harvard. His long-term investment strategies were the stuff of legend.”
Indeed, the man was considered a financial genius, or had been, until several of his very high-profile clients lost their entire life savings. A couple of last-minute stock sales from his own portfolio kept Oscar Sanborn from going under, as well. Some claimed insider trading, although he was investigated by the feds and cleared of all wrongdoing, but that hadn’t stopped the civil suits from being filed. Seventeen in all, only three of which were successful. The last article Chase read about the man noted that he was destitute, divorced and living in seclusion.
It hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Much less how drastically her life must have changed as the result of her father’s staggering legal difficulties. She would have been in college when her father’s business dealings had started to go south. The last of the civil lawsuits had been decided the previous year.
She was a young woman who had been raised in privilege, and as such accustomed to a certain social status and lifestyle. But she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, even though it appeared she had yet to land on her feet.
“I’ll have to tell him that,” Ella was saying. “He’ll be flattered.”
“What’s he doing these days?” Chase asked casually.
She glanced out her window again. Her tone was overly upbeat when she replied, “Oh, he’s retired, but he keeps busy.”
Chase could read between the lines. The man who had once ruled Wall Street was now all but a recluse.
“It must have been hard on you. As I recall, his reputation took quite a beating in the press.”
Her shoulders lifted. “It was harder on him. People he thought he could count on abandoned him. I think that hurt more than having to defend his business decisions in court or being forced to file bankruptcy.”
“Your stepmother,” he guessed.
“Camilla was among the first to seek greener pastures...and pocketbooks. Good riddance, I say, even though Dad felt differently. She broke his heart and what was left of his spirit.”
“I take it you and Camilla weren’t close.”
“No. She married my dad not long after my mom died. I tolerated her and her nasty daughter—” the infamous Bernadette, he deduced “—because my father was happy again.”
He slowed for a light. “How old were you when they married?”
“I’d just turned eleven.” Ella sighed, her tone became wistful. “It’s really too bad she was the kind of person she is. I wanted a mother. I missed mine. But right away I recognized Camilla for what she was—a phony and a user.”
Chase had his answers. Most of them anyway. He told himself it was none of his business, to leave it be, but he still heard himself asking the question that nagged the most.
“Who’s Bradley?”
“Someone I used to date.”
He’d gathered that much. And now that someone was marrying Ella’s stepsister.
“Was it serious?”
“I thought so at that time.” She cleared her throat. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject. “I think I got a good start on plans for your dinner party tonight.”
His dinner party. Chase had nearly forgotten about it. “Excellent,” he murmured, trying to match her professional tone.
“I’ll call The Colton tomorrow and speak to the manager about catering. That is if you think you want to use them.”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “I’ll have them put together a few appetizer, entree and dessert selections, and you can narrow down the menu from there.”
They discussed wine for the remainder of the drive. Her familiarity with high-end labels now made perfect sense. Ella had been raised in the same social c
ircles as Chase. If he hadn’t moved to California for a time, they very well might have met at some soiree or another. But she was unlike any of the women he knew. A fact that was underscored when they neared her apartment. He couldn’t imagine any of them living in this neighborhood much less the shoebox Ella called home. They’d sell their soul first.
“It’s a long way down.” Her laughter held little mirth.
“Excuse me.”
“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You’ve seen my apartment. You know that for a while I lived in one even smaller. As you probably guessed, I had a walk-in closet bigger than that in the house where I grew up. So, in that regard, it’s a long way down to Lower Manhattan from Central Park West.”
Was he really that transparent?
“Remind me to perfect my poker face before the next time I have to deal with the board of directors.”
“Speaking of work, I’ll be by the Trumbull offices Monday morning. I’ll return your uncle’s deposit and explain that he needs a more experienced party planner to organize his wake.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“And thank you for the pity job.” Her smile was impish and accompanied by those charming dimples. “I wish I had the name of someone I could recommend, but I haven’t had need for a party planner in some time. Of course, back when my father hosted large gatherings, Camilla was the one to oversee such details. I trust you will understand when I say I would rather slit my own throat than have to ask her who she used to hire.”
It was impossible not to chuckle given Ella’s dry tone. It was also impossible not to be impressed with the way she had handled adversity.
They were nearing her apartment. Chase slowed, scanning the street for an open spot near the curb.
“Oh, there’s no need to park. Just drop me out front.”
“I’ll walk you up.”
“Seriously, there’s no need. Besides, it’s impossible to find a place on this block, which is why I don’t own a car. Well, that and the fact that I can’t afford one at the moment.”
The remark might be self-deprecating, but her laughter held no bitterness.
